Shame: A Personal Reflection
For the last 29 years I’ve felt ashamed. Ashamed of my body. Ashamed of my appearance. Ashamed of my actions. Ashamed of my choices. Most of all, I have been ashamed of something that I have held so close to my heart but never really attempted to talk about. The abuse my body endured at the hands of someone else has locked me into a closet that I have been unable to let anyone else into.
The shame. The guilt. The mental torment. The secrets. The lies. The weight sometimes feels unbearable. It’s like you want to explode. Instead, you just smile and keep going. I’m pretty sure that explosive, bubbling feeling that is centered right in my gut will always nag at me until I can heal the wounds of my past. It will fester and ooze until I can work through the years of self-blame and shame and doubt. But one day…the wound will heal.
I think the shame feels the heaviest. It’s like toting a weight around with me everywhere I go. It’s like walking around and wondering if I am transparent because it feels as if everyone I pass by can see right through me. They can see my “junk.” They can see my past, my flaws, my brokenness. It’s like they can see that I’m not like them. It’s like they can see all of the blood gushing from the wounds that I keep putting band aids on in hopes that they will just go away. I wonder if they really can see?
In the stillness of the night is when it hurts the most. My mind won’t ever let me completely rest. I always seem to play the woulda, shoulda, coulda game. At 34 years old I still can’t stand the thought of another human being sleeping in my bed. I need my space. I need to know that I am okay on my own. When I can fall asleep I drift off to the lull of the television and the snuggles of my fur babies. The silence is too much for my already racing mind. The silence allows too much grief to creep in. The silence allows it all to come rushing back.
But for today, I will rest knowing I am doing the best I can.
By: Alison Morrett